


Intricate Rituals

by acedavestrider



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Caliginous-Flushed Vacillation, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Soulmates, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acedavestrider/pseuds/acedavestrider
Summary: Collection of fics that were too short for their own posts, all davekat1. proposal2. first kiss3. mafia!au4. blackrom/redrom vacillating5. sloppy black makeouts6. adopting a grub7. soulmate au





	1. Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from anonymous on tumblr: davekat. marriage proposal.

The park is closed. You shake the iron of the front gate and it rattles in response, unforgiving and unhelpful. You heave a massive sigh, one seemingly unnecessary for the given situation, and Karkat watches you with his arms crossed to protect himself from the bitter cold. 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he’s saying, but it  _ is _ that big of a deal, especially when your entire plan was hinging on the park being open. “We can just go home, then. I’m freezing my entire ass off.” 

“As opposed to just a fraction of your ass?” you ask, though you’re starting to shake with anxiety. 

“Yes, my whole, literal ass is freezing off as we speak,” he smirks at you. “Soon it’ll be completely gone and you’ll have nothing to shamelessly ogle or randomly pinch ever again. We’ll bury it in the backyard and get a custom headstone for it, so you’ll always remember the fun you had together. Sex will be difficult without it, but we’ll persevere. I hope you’ll still love me regardless.” 

“I will,” is all you say, because you’re too nervous to think of anything else. The little box in your side pocket spins around at the motions from your fingertips, and it weighs a thousand pounds at your side. You wonder if Karkat’s noticed you fiddling with it all fucking night, but he hasn’t mentioned anything. 

It’s date night, and you pulled out all the stops. Went to a fancy restaurant, even made a reservation, dressed semi-nice and everything. You brought Karkat flowers after work as a surprise and he’d kissed you silly at the gesture, however small it may have been. The plan was to go to the park after dinner and ask him to marry you in the exact spot where you had your first kiss all those years ago, but the park is closed and now your plan has been fucked sideways. It’s not gonna be able to walk tomorrow it just got fucked so hard, and now you have no idea what to do. 

“Fuck,” you say, realizing you never had a plan B. Rookie mistake. “I can’t believe the fucking park closes at nine o’clock like, what if some kids wanna play on the slide or catch fireflies or some shit late at night? What kind of world do we live in where parks close at ungodly early hours? What the fuck?” 

Karkat squints at you, breath coming out in puffs in front of his face. “We could hop the fence,” he suggests, only half serious. 

You genuinely consider it for a moment, but then the possible scenario of getting arrested pops into your head and you have to shake away the thought. Two vaguely brown guys jumping the fence into a public park at nine-thirty at night? You would definitely get the cops called on you and that would definitely ruin your marriage proposal beyond all hope. 

“Not worth it,” you say, weighing the pros and cons in your head. 

“Let’s just go home,” he says again, getting disgruntled. “I wasn’t kidding about my ass. It’s actually gone now, hope you weren’t looking forward to interacting with it ever again.” 

“I’m real torn up about that dude,” you say. “May it rest in peace.” 

“Seriously though, it’s cold and I’m tired from all that goddamn food,” Karkat insists. “Let’s just-”

“No, wait I…” You falter, trying to find an excuse to stay out. Proposing at home when you’re both in your pajamas isn’t exactly romantic and Karkat deserves the biggest, grandest gesture your anxious ass can muster. 

“Dave?” he asks when you don’t finish your sentence. You look up at him as the smooth velvet of the ring box brushes against your fingertips again. He’s starkly beautiful against the dark background of the winter night, all flushed cheeks and mussed up hair and pouty lips. 

“Hey, you know I love you, right?” 

He furrows his brows. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” You’re nauseous. You have no backup plan and if you don’t propose to Karkat right this second you might just explode from pent up anxiety. “Fuck it,” you say out loud, making a decision. 

Karkat squints at you. “What-”

“Look,” you interrupt him. “I didn’t prepare a whole speech or anything because you know how I am, and you know I love you, and I don’t need to prove that to you.” 

“What in the sweet shitting fuck are you talking about?” Karkat gasps when you pull the box out, hands covering his mouth. 

“I used to think…” You’re getting choked up, unbelievable. You clear your throat. “I used to think I would end up alone, you know? Like there was no way anyone would ever really love me, wanna be with me, do cheesy romantic shit with me or anything. And then I met you and it’s like… I don’t know, it’s like waking up, really seeing shit for the first time. And I can’t believe someone like you loves someone like me, but the universe chilled out and gave me this one and I’m not letting it go.” 

“Dave…” There are tears in Karkat’s voice. You try to hide your own. 

“So, um, basically,” you pause to get down on one knee, open up the box to reveal the ring inside, “will you marry me?” 

For once you’ve rendered Karkat completely speechless and he nods his yes to you through teary eyes. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes in a sigh of relief and you stand up from the cold ground, welcoming Karkat into an embrace when he falls into your arms. He’s crying and you’re crying a little bit too, and when you pull apart he gives you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him produce. He holds his hand out for you to put the ring on his finger, and your own hands shake when you do so. Karkat grasps at your fingers and kisses you, smiling and laughing against your mouth, and you feel like you’re floating. 

“So, that’s definitely a yes then?” you ask. 

He thuds you on the shoulder. “Yes, you fucking idiot, of course I’ll marry you,” he says. “I can’t believe you’d ever think I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m…” You swallow, try again. “I’m really excited,” you admit with a laugh. 

“Me too,” Karkat beams up at you. He kisses you again, long and sweet, and you don’t let go of his hand the entire way back to your apartment, admiring the ring glinting off his finger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a couple of nerds :')
> 
> send any prompts to my tumblr @ acedavestrider
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	2. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from aztec-rope on tumblr - first kiss/confession

You don’t know how you’re breathing outside the meteor, don’t know whether to chalk it up to paradox space or game mechanics, but you’re breathing nonetheless, sucking in the chilled air outside in the void. You’re sitting on a balcony in the west wing of the meteor, watching as space passes you by, black and empty. If it weren’t for the haze at the edges of the meteor, making it fuzzy and indiscernible in some places, you wouldn’t be sure whether or not you were moving at all. You can’t feel it. 

The cool air, somehow breathable, chills your skin and surrounds you in a blanket of cold. The only warm spot on your body is your shoulder, where it’s leaning up against Karkat. You scoot closer to him, trying to gather more of his body heat, and he meets you in the middle. Your thighs are touching now, another burst of warmth in your otherwise cold body, and you swallow thickly. 

He’s talking, rambling about something. You’re not listening. You’re staring at his mouth, watching his lips form words, blinking when his tongue peeks out to dart across his lower lip in thought. You watch him talk for a long time, though you’re not taking anything in. You think he’s discussing the intricacies of the romantic plot of a book he read, but you can’t be sure. You can’t hear him, not really. You can only feel him, feel the pounding in your heart, the buzzing in your fingers, the urge to touch him. 

Your resolve is starting to break. You’ve been avoiding this for months now, tamping down your feelings for Karkat like dirt around a newly sown plant of your own denial. It’s healthy and sprouting huge internalized homophobia fruits, and you’re plucking the fruit one by one and cutting them up into a huge pie, which will feed you for months to come. 

You don’t know what you’re thinking. 

No. You do know. You’re thinking that you want to kiss him. And part of you is telling you to go for it, while the other, bigger part of you is telling you that you’re crazy, that you’re an idiot, that you’re disgusting, that Karkat doesn’t want anything to do with you. But then he turns to you to give you a little smile and the angry, confused section of your brain shuts right up and sinks into oblivion. 

He’s still looking at you. He’s stopped talking now and is staring at you questioningly. 

“Dave?” he asks, voice soft. “Are you even listening to me?” 

All other thoughts cease in your head, trains screeching to a halt inside your brain and crashing into one another. The only thing that survives the wreckage is a single idea. Kiss him. 

You lean forward, but then stop. Karkat is looking at your mouth, and you see him swallow. You lean forward more, heart pounding, and Karkat lifts his chin to meet you halfway. Your lips touch, just for a moment, and you pull away as electricity crackles down your spine. You think your heart is going to explode. 

“Was that,” you start, but your voice shakes so much that you have to clear your throat and try again. “Was that okay?” 

Karkat’s eyes are wide, but his voice takes on the teasingly rude tone it normally does. “Not by a long shot,” he jokes. “You consider that a kiss? I’d call the tender caress of my dead lusus’ claws against my neck more of a kiss than that.” 

It’s funny, but you can’t smile just yet. His lips are parted expectantly and you press yours against his for a second time, more firm now. He kisses you back, a little eager, and your hand comes up to gently graze against his cheek. When you pull away this time Karkat follows you, and reconnects your mouths. Your chest bursts with elation and your body burns with heat despite the cool air, almost overwhelming. You only pull back from Karkat after a few moments and he stares up at you shyly, cheeks tinged light red. 

He smiles at you, sincere and full of affection. “Are we… do you want to…?” he hesitates. 

“I do,” you say immediately. “If you want to…?” 

“I do…” Karkat answers, despite barely being asked a question. 

“So, are we like… boyfriends then?” you ask. “Like officially? Like I can change my Facebook status and my bio on Instagram?” 

“If you insist on using the human term for flushed romance then yes, I guess we are boyfriends,” Karkat says with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck that other human shit you were talking about is, though.” 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” you promise. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d be really into making out with you for at least a few more minutes, if that’s cool.” 

“That’s cool,” Karkat says, shy tone creeping back into his voice. “That’s very cool.” 

You laugh, and Karkat laughs back, and you kiss him until you’re breathless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first kiss scenes are my number one weakness so shoutout to the person who sent this one


	3. Mafia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt from spooky-gator: Karkat and Dave are the future heads of two different mafia!AU

You’ve been tracking Vantas’ activity for the past eleven days, and you think you might finally have him. The Alternia mob has been getting sloppy with their movements, getting caught on cameras in back alleys and shady gas stations, and Dirk’s been on top of every sighting. He’s directed you to an alleyway in between a sex shop and a sleazy motel, an all too fitting place for two future mafia heads to meet. 

“There’s supposed to be a drop here tonight,” he says in your earpiece. “Last I checked it was going down about two minutes ago.” 

“I’m late,” you mutter, half-joking. “Hope they aren’t missing me.” 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dirk says as you step farther into the alley. “Don’t take any risks if you don’t have to; you know how to reach me if necessary.” 

“Yeah, got it,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice down. Your earpiece goes silent as you sneak forward, careful to keep your steps quiet and your breathing stifled. You expect to hear voices, but there’s nothing, just the empty silence of a back alley at one o’clock in the morning. 

You’re about to buzz Dirk and tell him he fucked something up when a trash can lid clatters to the ground at your right. You spin around, trying to find the source of the noise, only to see a dark shadow scurry away before your eyes can focus in the dim light. There’s definitely no deal going down, but  _ someone’s  _ here. Probably the someone you’re looking for. 

“Vantas,” you call out, unafraid. Your fingers graze your sword, secured in it’s holster by your side. “I know you’re there. Come on, I wanna see that pretty face of yours.” 

You’re facing the wrong direction. Karkat comes out behind you and suddenly there’s a sickle being held to your throat, another pressed into your back. 

“Move and I’ll kill you,” growls a voice in your ear. 

You laugh. “You and I both know you won’t kill me.” 

“Try me.” 

You snap your head back and it collides with Karkat’s forehead, creating a sick cracking sound. You hear him stumble back, his sickles withdrawing from your person, and you whirl around to face him. He looks all kinds of pissed off, forehead red and cheeks burning with anger, and he sneers at you with as much vitriol as he can muster. You smile. 

“Come on, Karkat,” you chastise. “You should know better than to come up behind me.” You’ve pulled out your sword already, glinting under the moonlight, and you hold it lazily at your side. You’re not expecting much a fight. 

“Shut up,” Karkat hisses, and he lunges at you with both sickles out. 

His anger has made his form sloppy, his footwork uncoordinated, and you’re able to deflect his weapons with little more than a tap from your sword. He stumbles back, fuming, and immediately dives at you again, this time with even more force behind his movements. You spin and your sword clangs against one of his sickles, an echoing, metallic sound. Karkat wrenches away from you and stands a few feet away, breathing heavily. 

“I thought there was supposed to be a deal here today,” you call to him. “Something tells me that’s not happening anymore.” 

“Yeah?” Karkat spits. “Your cousin’s not as fucking clever as he thinks.” 

“Ouch,” comes Dirk’s voice in your ear, muffled. 

“So there’s no deal then?” you ask, just to confirm. “You’ve just slammed the case back over the big red button to the disappointment of Howie Mandel, and the crowd is going wild over your risky move?” 

“Of course there’s no fucking deal, you halfwit piece of shit.” Karkat huffs like you’re asking him what color the sky is. “Dirk’s been leaving behind digital traces of his movements all over the fucking place. We know you’ve been watching us.” 

Dirk hisses an angry, “Fuck,” in your ear. 

“Oh yeah?” you challenge. “Then why did you come?” 

You can see him swallow, pause. “Wanted to straighten some things out.” 

You chuckle and flex your wrist, spinning your sword in lazy circles. “Based on what I know, there’s not much to straighten out,” you say. “You stole from us. We want our shit back.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or I’ll kill you.” 

Karkat smirks. “No you won’t.” 

Before you can respond he’s charging you again, his footwork more controlled now that he thinks he has an advantage over you. He comes at your throat with one of his sickles and you dive under it, coming back up behind him. You go to swing your sword at his back but he turns and parries just in time. He catches your eye and gives you a little smile, and something in your stomach swoops uncomfortably. 

The feeling catches you off guard and you lose your footing a little, have to take a step back. You’re able to duck away from the next set of stabs in your direction, until your back hits a wall. Karkat smirks at you, thinking he has the upper hand, but then you jab the handle of your sword into his stomach and he folds over with a groan. 

You maneuver away from him and away from the wall, barely regaining your stance before Karkat’s sickles are ringing off the metal of your sword. He’s surprisingly good with those things when he’s not blinded by anger, and he wears you out for several long minutes of parrying and blocking. You’re stronger than him, though, and bigger, and soon you’ve backed him up against the brick wall of the alley way. You step back and place the tip of your sword underneath his chin, forcing him to look at you. 

“Why did you steal from us?” you ask him again. “Where’s our shit?” 

“I already told you, we didn’t steal any of your useless, shitty guns,” he spits out. 

“What, am I supposed to believe the  _ Midnight Crew  _ took them?” you ask, barking out a laugh. “Those incompetent bastards couldn’t steal their own fucking weapons even if they tried.” 

“Maybe you’re the incompetent ones,” Karkat suggests helpfully. “You can’t even keep tabs on your own stock. Pathetic.” 

“At least we have stock,” you counter. “Alternia couldn’t produce a decent weapon to save its fucking life.” 

Karkat chuckles. “We don’t need guns to be better than you,” he says. 

You tilt your head up, taking Karkat in, his snark, his anger, this back and forth between you two. He looks at you with steady eyes, deep hazel and shifting under the moon. His dark brown skin blends him into the scenery, which is probably why you couldn’t see him earlier, and his messy hair hangs wildly around his eyes and forehead. There’s still a red mark on his skin from where you headbutted him earlier and the thought of it makes you grin a little bit. The swooping feeling in your stomach makes a vengeful return and you lower your sword. 

“What are you doing?” Dirk asks. “Take him out.” 

You pull your earpiece out, lower your sword. You approach Karkat until your chests are nearly touching, and he lifts his chin almost defiantly, meeting your eyes. 

“Why aren’t you killing me?” he asks. 

“You know why,” you mutter. 

All of your meetings go like this. You meet each other, you fight, and then something stops you from killing one another. You’re not sure what it is, but you have a feeling, and you think Karkat has the same feeling. 

You see him swallow again, and this time you’re close enough that you can hear it. You’ve wrenched your hand into the collar of Karkat’s dark shit and he’s staring up at you with wide, anticipatory eyes. When you lean down he meets you halfway, and you kiss him, hard. His mouth is soft and pliant against yours, a stark opposite to the growl rising up out of his throat, and he nips at your lips with his teeth. You groan and press him harder against the wall, and his fingers thread into your hair, and pull. Your tongue slides into his mouth and a partly suppressed moan escapes from him, breathy and subdued. 

You pull away after a few moments and Karkat is staring at you with a bewildered expression. You take a step back. 

“If you didn’t steal our weapons then find out who did,” you say, a little breathless. “And I’ll make sure you’re paid for your efforts.” 

“Fine,” he says. His fingers come up to graze against his lips, and his eyes disengage from yours. 

You take another step back. “Give the Signless my best.” 

Karkat’s eyes snap back up to yours. “And same to your brother.” 

You nod, once, and turn away from him, heading back out of the alley and into the street. On your way to the van, you replace your earpiece and Dirk’s voice crackles in your ear. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I’ll explain later,” you mutter, the memory of Karkat’s lips still on your mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now this one was fun.............. might continue it someday maybe.....
> 
> thanks for reading/commenting! yall have been sweet as usual


	4. Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tiiigerrr on tumblr: could u write some pre-retcon meteorstuck redrom/blackrom flipping davekat......

Dave has been insufferable all day. He keeps purposely getting on your nerves, riling you up for no reason other than that he’s bored. You know he’s just doing it to piss you off, get a reaction out of you, and for some reason that just pisses you off even more. It infuriates you that his tactics work, that such wiggler-level shit gets a rise out of you, but you can’t control yourself around him. He drives you fucking crazy. 

Today he’s been prattling on about Terezi like it’s his job and you’re about to lose your fucking mind. Every time he talks it makes your heart pound a dangerous beat, so pitch you can feel it straight down to your toes. The last time you felt this black for someone was when you first started trolling John, and that doesn’t even compare to what you’re feeling now. 

“Hey,” he’s saying to you. You’ve been pointedly ignoring him for a few minutes, but you tune back in to hear what he has to say, and it’s as stupid and annoying as you expect. “Let’s strife together.” 

“Strife?” you repeat dumbly. “As if you’d ever be able to go against me for more than five minutes.” You scoff to make your point, and can feel him narrow his eyes behind his stupid sunglasses. 

“Wanna bet?” he challenges. 

“Fuck no, that would just make you look like an even bigger sack of shit than you already are,” you retort. “I don’t want to deal with the secondhand embarrassment I’ll feel when you inevitably get your ass kicked.” 

“Been strifing all my fucking life, dude; think I could take you.” He tilts his head and considers you for a moment. “I mean, unless you’re chicken shit, in which case we can just-”

God, he makes you insane. “Fine,” you spit out, and soon you’re standing in front of him in an empty room on the meteor, sickles in hand. 

He stands with his sword by his side, lazily flexing his wrist and peering at you from above his shades. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, tone chastising. “Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble. “Let’s go.” 

Dave starts to approach you, slowly then faster, and suddenly his sword is clanging against the multi-colored metal of one of your sickles. You push up against him until you manage to wrench away from him, surprised at his strength and speed. He wasn’t kidding about being well-trained. 

The moment your weapons disconnect, Dave is coming for you again with his sword raised. You barely have time to sidestep him and narrowly avoid getting sliced by the sharp metal. He reroutes himself immediately and comes at you once more, and this time the sound of metal on metal rings in your ears. 

You fight for a long time, longer than you’re used to, and soon both of you are sweating. Dave’s sunglasses are slipping down his nose and he’s standing a few feet away from you, breathing heavily. Your heart pounds from exertion and from anger at how good he is, at how you’re the one getting your ass kicked. You hate losing, and you especially hate losing to  _ Dave _ , and the realization that you’re not gonna win this one reignites the fire in your chest. You lunge at him while he has his guard down, and manage to get a good strike against his sword. 

You think you’ve tired him out, or he’s purposely letting you get in a few good hits, because you’re suddenly starting to turn the tide of the fight. The idea that Dave might be letting you win pisses you off to no end, and you charge him with newly invigorated energy. 

You keep hammering him with blows, watching as his technique gets sloppier, his footwork more unsure. It just fuels you more, makes you want to keep hitting his sword with your sickles. 

Until you cut him. 

You don’t mean to. You’re coming at him with your sickles, and you can see him starting to dodge you so your correct yourself, but the angle is just so that you end up slicing the side of his arm. The fabric of his t-shirt tears and blood, deep red, starts to leak out of the wound. 

The rage you’d felt for the entire fight dissipates almost immediately as fear and regret seep into your bones. You drop your sickles and they clatter to the stone floor loudly. 

“Shit,” you say, approaching him. “Shit, Dave, I didn’t mean to.” 

He’s inspecting the wound in a way that would be nonchalant if not for the unbelievably tense curve of his shoulders and the tight line of his mouth. The blood from the cut is dripping onto his shirt, staining the already red sleeve even darker. 

“Dave?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer you. “Are you okay?” 

This seems to snap him out of his weird stupor, and he jolts at your question. “Yeah, I’m good,” he insists, though his voice shakes. “All good.” 

You have to swallow down bile at the sight of such bright red blood, and when Dave drops his sword and sits on the floor you decide to join him. He crosses his legs and adjusts his cape and fidgets endlessly while you sit together. You clear your throat, pulling out a rag you have in your sylladex, and you raise your eyebrows. 

“I can, uh, help… um,” you stutter. The sudden exit of your black feelings has left you exhausted, and now they’re replaced with something you don’t understand. Something like pity. 

“Yeah,” Dave says. Then again, “Yeah.” 

You gently press the rag against his wound, and he doesn’t flinch or even blink at the pressure. You swab at the blood and let the light fabric of the rag absorb it, becoming stained within a few minutes. You look up at Dave, eyes hesitant. 

“I’m really sorry,” you say. “This was such a stupid fucking idea and I should’ve never agreed to it. I should’ve known one of us was gonna get hurt.” 

“Not your fault,” he mutters. “I’m the one who brought it up.” 

You remove the rag and take a closer look at the cut. The bleeding has stopped and the cut doesn’t look nearly as bad as it initially seemed. You breathe a small sigh of relief. 

“Okay, new rule,” you start. “We’re never fucking doing that again.” 

“Deal,” Dave agrees, a little breathless. 

He shifts, swallows, and when you look down your hand has migrated to his knee, far too familiar and intimate for someone you were just fighting with. You remove it immediately, and stand up with awkward, shaky movements. 

“Right, well,” you start, but you don’t finish. You have nothing to say. Your chest squeezes uncomfortably when you look down at Dave, see his little frown and his pouty lips and red cheeks. You look back up and a feeling of dread drapes over you like a blanket, coupled with so much pity it almost knocks you over. You exit the room with a knot in the pit of your stomach, leaving Dave on the floor behind you. 

You’re so fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive never done blackrom before but this was actually a lot of fun
> 
> thanks for reading everyone!


	5. Kismesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from aztec-rope on tumblr: maybe just some good pure blackrom that ends in sloppy hatesnogs?

You’re in deep.

You’re becoming engulfed in something that you understand only in theory, not in practice: a kismesissitude. With a human. Dave, of all people. When the two of you meet, when you start to argue and gripe and sneer at each other, you never think it will develop into what it becomes. You’ve never really had any of your quadrants filled, save for a failed, one-sided moirallegiance with Gamzee, which you don’t really count.

At first, you don’t think anything of it. You assume Dave’s just an annoying, insufferable bastard like most humans are. And you think that he feels the same way about you, with how he speaks and acts around you. Yeah, you get on each other’s nerves, and you fight incessantly about topics that don’t warrant such extensive commentary, but that’s all it is. Just some normal, platonic hate.

But then you start to feel other things. Things like respect for Dave, his eloquence, his vocabulary, the way he holds himself like he has all the confidence in the world. You start to envy him, wish for his characteristics to be part of your own personality. Something like admiration starts to spark in your chest when he’s in the same space as you. That, and something else you can’t quite put your finger on, something you want to ignore.

“Earth to Vantas.”

You look up, sneer. You’re sitting in one of the common rooms trying to mind your own business. Dave must have sauntered up to you while you weren’t paying attention, and is now far closer to your face than socially acceptable.

“What the fuck do you want?” you spit.

“Just passin’ by,” he says, though he remains irritatingly stationary.

“Then get the fuck out of my personal space and do whatever you have to do,” you say. “Not everyone likes being in such close proximity to you humans. Some of you have an unbearable stench that you just can’t seem to get rid of. It lingers.”

“Says king rank of the rancid kingdom,” he shoots back. He sits down next to you and slings an arm over the back of the couch. “What are you reading? Another one of those filthy novels? Who’s getting dicked down this time? Wait, no, lemme guess, it’s some twink who-”

“God, do you ever shut up?” you ask rhetorically. “Not everyone wants to hear the raw sewage that spews out of your mouth at such an alarming rate. Sometimes it becomes so unbearable that I actually consider hurling my useless body off this meteor and drifting through the void until I eventually succumb to the vacuum of space and die tragically.”

“Pretty strong feelings to have for a guy who insists he doesn’t feel any type of way about me,” he retorts. He has an aggravating little smirk on his mouth that you want to wipe off with the back of your hand.

You shake your head, tongue in your cheek as you consider what he said. You do protest a little much, and get defensive when anyone suggests you might have black feelings for Dave. You don’t want to admit it to yourself, and you’d rather castrate yourself than admit it to _him_.

“How the fuck does Terezi stand you?” you ask, changing the topic. “I have to give her credit for enduring your ridiculous blabbering all the time without braining you with that cane of hers.”

“Hey, keep Terezi’s name out of your mouth,” he says, this time with a little frown. “Thought we agreed to keep her out of this shit.”

“This shit,” you repeat. “You mean you annoying me like it’s your fucking job?”

“I mean you being up my ass all the time,” he corrects. “You follow me around like a lost fucking puppy. I’d think you have some kind of crush on me if I didn’t know any better.”

“What in mother grub’s third gaping sphincter are you getting at here?” you ask, despite how hard your heart starts to pound. He’s inching too close to the truth for you to try denying it anymore, and it’s making you nervous. If he finds out you might be harboring black feelings for him he’ll make fun of you until the end of this absurdly long meteor trip. You’ll never live it down.

Dave puts up his hand defensively. “Look, all I’m saying is,” he starts, “I don’t know a lot about troll romance but it seems to me like you’re a little too far up my ass to be considered completely platonic.”

You put your book down. Your heart is really going crazy now, threatening to burst out of your chest with unrequited pitch feelings.

“You wouldn’t know troll romance if it hit you in the face,” you scoff, volume raising. “That shit you think you have with Terezi? That’s nothing. If you think she has any fucking feelings for you then you’re more deranged than I thought you were, and I’ll be fucked sideways if I let you get off on thinking you’re hot shit because a pretty troll girl gave you five seconds of her time.”

“If she feels so little for me than what does that mean for you?” is all Dave says.

You narrow your eyes, try to calm your pulse. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean, you said she feels virtually nothing for me, but she still hangs out with me and everything,” he explains. “If that’s nothing, then she must really feel jack fucking shit for you.”

It stings, and he knows it does. You hate that he knows exactly what to say to get you, knows all of your insecurities down to the smallest detail.

“I thought we were keeping her out of this,” you remind him.

“You’re the one who brought her up.” He’s right. You hate that he’s right.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Dave smiles. You hate it. “Make me.”

You hate him. You hate the way he talks to you. You hate the way he walks, the way he moves, the way he sounds. You hate that he knows you better than most others, that he can keep up with your long rants and smart mouth. You hate that you respect him, admire him, find yourself attracted to him, and you hate that he knows.

“I hate you,” you say, and you grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him towards you.

His eyes widen behind his shades for a moment, surprised at your sudden movement, but they close as soon as you press your lips to his in a messy kiss. He doesn’t respond at first, too shocked to act, but then you press into him harder and he starts to kiss you back. It’s slow initially, as you wait for him to push away, for rejection to sting like a slap to the face. But it doesn’t come, and instead he’s gripping the hem of your shirt like it’s his lifeline, knuckles white and fingernails digging into your side.

Your book slides off your lap and thuds to the ground as you shift your body closer to Dave’s. He’s actually kissing you now, lips moving fluidly against yours, and you thread your hand into his hair. When you give an experimental tug he moans into your mouth, the sound coming from deep in his throat, and you mirror the noise when he pushes his tongue past your open lips.

He tries to pull away after a while but you hold his bottom lip with your teeth for a moment before letting go. You’re both breathing heavily and Dave’s cheeks are flushed pink over his light skin. You face each other in silence.

“I knew it,” is all he says, triumphant and confident and irritating.

“Shut up,” you say, and it comes out as half a growl.

Dave raises his eyebrows at the noise and initiates the kiss this time, a little more coordinated. Your hands are back in his hair, his on your waist, and you kiss him with frenzied movements. You’re afraid to let this end, to be alone with your thoughts and feelings towards him, and you’re more than happy to kiss him instead.

A hand on your chest pushes you onto your back on the couch, and Dave hovers above you with a hand on either side of your head. He grins down at you with that annoying smirk and your heart flares, so pitch it hurts. You pull him down on top of you, force the smirk away with your lips, and revel in the way he moans against you. Dave’s hand sneaks up your shirt, blunt nails grazing down your skin, and he presses you into the cushions until you can’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i think blackrom davekat is my new favorite thing? most blackrom stuff on here is pwp so i didnt wanna go that route, and their banter playing off each other is too good not to write. bless the person who sent this in. 
> 
> thanks for reading/commenting as usual! appreciate you all!
> 
> and merry christmas to those who celebrate! take this as a gift haha


	6. Parenthood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from aztec-rope on tumblr: them being new parents raising a grub?

This is the most nervous you’ve ever been in your life. You’re more nervous than when you fought Lord English, more nervous than when you asked Karkat to marry you, more nervous than your wedding day. You’re about to meet your daughter for the first time and a million things are running through your head. Your first fear is that you’re going to drop her, which is a ridiculous but all too real anxiety coursing through your mind at a thousand miles an hour. Karkat would never let you touch her again if you dropped her immediately after meeting her and you don’t think you’d ever forgive yourself. 

Beyond possibly dropping your infant child, you’re also extremely worried that she’ll just flat out not like you. She’s a troll grub, still new to the world, and you’re afraid she won’t take to a human as well as she would to another troll. What if she doesn’t let you hold her? What if she cries when Karkat’s not around? What the hell are you supposed to do if you’re alone with her and she won’t eat, or doesn’t want to take a nap, because she wants her other dad more than you? 

“Calm down,” a voice soothes next to you. It’s Karkat, looking at you with a slightly amused, slightly concerned expression, eyebrows drawn together but mouth quirked up in a smile. “I can literally feel you worrying yourself into an early death. If I have to raise this wiggler by myself I’m gonna be so pissed off.” 

“I’m trying, babe,” you say. He takes your hand and you squeeze his fingers. “I’m just thinking of approximately twenty million things that could go wrong here.” 

“Well stop,” he suggests. “It’s going to be fine; she’ll love you.” 

“Yeah but what if she doesn’t?” you ask anxiously. “What if I’m her least favorite dad? How fucked up would that be?” 

“ _ Relax _ .” Karkat kisses the back of your hand and gives you a reassuring look. “If she doesn’t like you we’ll just return her and get a different one,” he jokes. 

“I sure hope you’re not serious,” comes a calm voice from the hallway. Kanaya appears in front of you with Rose, carrying a small green bundle in her arms. “Are you ready?” 

You and Karkat stand, though you don’t let go of his hand just yet, too nervous to lose the comfort. You swallow and look at your husband. “I’m ready if you are.” 

Karkat nods, tears already starting to well up in his eyes. He’s been looking forward to this for months now, ever since you signed the papers and got approved for the adoption. He’d cried then and you know he’s going to cry now. You might, too. 

“Alright,” Kanaya says softly. “Who wants to hold her first?” 

A nudge on your lower back pushes you forward, and you hold out your arms. Kanaya transfers the small grub into your embrace and your heart pounds as you adjust her, making sure her head is supported like Rose showed you. Curious yellow eyes stare up at you, and the little jade blood in your arms makes the tiniest sound of contentment. A shiver jolts down your spine and you feel the first tears start to push at your eyes, constrict your throat. 

“Babe?” you say, turning to Karkat. He’s openly crying now, wiping tears off of his cheeks, and he stands at your side with a hand on your back. “You wanna hold her? I highly recommend it.” 

He sniffles out an affirmative and you pass the grub on to him, watching with fond eyes as he takes her ever so gently into his arms. 

“Have you decided on a name?” Rose asks you. She rifles around in her purse and produces a tissue, which you take gratefully. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice wobbling. “Dave Jr.” 

“No,” Karkat says, trying to put some bite into his tone. “Her name is Kresea.” 

“Kresea,” Rose repeats. “That’s pretty.” 

“I think so, too,” Karkat says, staring down at the grub in his arms. 

“Um, so…” You wipe at your eyes and clear your throat, trying to rip your gaze away from your daughter and back to Rose and Kanaya. “We have the nursery all set up and we’ve got the car seat and everything, so…” 

“You’re all set, then,” Kanaya says with a smile. “I just fed her before you got here so she should be alright for a few hours, at least. Try to get her on a sleeping schedule fairly early to make your lives easier and don’t forget to-”

“They can handle it,” Rose interrupts. She smiles at you. “Call us if you need anything.” 

“We will,” you promise. It’s your and Karkat’s first time with a grub, meanwhile Rose and Kanaya are on their second time around already. You know for sure there’s going to be some late night calls of panic to their house when your daughter inevitably does something you don’t understand. “Thanks.” 

You say your goodbyes and follow Karkat out to the car, where you both have to fuck with the car seat for several minutes before it locks into place. You decide to stay in the back with Kresea while Karkat drives, and she makes a series of adorable noises at you on the way back to your house. 

Once home, you give her a grand tour of her new house, carrying her to all the important rooms and telling her about all the wonderful things she can do with the items inside them. Karkat follows you, making snide comments in your ear when you point out something particularly dangerous to the grub, like the bathtub and the electrical sockets. 

“And this is your room,” you say when you get to the nursery. “We got all kindsa cool shit here for you, like a little potty, and all these fucking toys. You have all of the toys. All of them.” 

You move over to the dresser in the corner of the room. “And when you pupate or whatever and get your arms and legs, we have all these motherfucking clothes,” you pull open one of the drawers, “like so many clothes. More than you could ever need, we’ve got a different outfit for each day of the week. Kanaya’s gonna be so jealous.” 

“And here’s your bed,” you announce, standing by her crib. “This is where you’re gonna catch the sweetest of Z’s, unless you’re feelin’ some type of way in which case you can just sleep with us.” 

“Kanaya said not to get her into that habit,” Karkat reminds you. “It’s hard to break.” 

“Look, if my daughter wants to sleep in her dads’ bed then who am I to tell her no?” Kresea lets out a pleased coo at your proclamation and you nod in finality. Karkat rolls his eyes and gives you a look like this will be a discussion later, but otherwise keeps his mouth shut. 

You go to the living room and set up a play mat once you’re done with the tour, plopping a few toys on the ground for Kresea to play with. She takes a liking to a plush lusus doll in the form of a tinkerbull and rolls around on the floor with it for a bit while you take endless pictures of her and Karkat together. Your previous fears about her disliking you are eased when she gets tired out from the toy and crawls directly into your lap, where she falls asleep immediately. 

“Karkat holy shit,” you whisper. “Now I’m stuck here; I can’t move.” 

“I think it’s nap time,” he whispers back to you, equally afraid of waking up the snoozing grub. “We should take her to her crib.” 

“We should,” you agree, and then both of you proceed to sit there and stare at her instead. She has a thick head of coarse black hair already, and you run your fingers through it gently. A soft, whirring sound kicks up inside her little body and you smile up at Karkat. He beams back at you. 

“Are you happy?” he asks you quietly. “To have her?” 

“Of course dude, are you kidding me,” you reply. “I’m happy to have both of you. Never thought I’d be a husband and a dad, all at once.” 

“Well, you are,” he says definitively. “And you’re good at both, so far.” 

“Hey,” you say. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Karkat responds, smiling sweetly at you. 

“Also we should definitely go put her in her crib.” 

“Yeah, we should.” 

You get up to move Kresea to her room and she wakes up almost as soon as you put her down in her nursery. She starts to wail, big tears leaking out of her tiny eyes, and you sigh. Karkat gives you a grimace and you get to work on calming her down, rocking and shushing her as best as you can. Karkat tries too, but she just keeps crying and soon you’re both tense and confused and stressed out. When she eventually calms down an hour later you’re all exhausted, and you and Karkat lie down in your bed for a nap, too. 

“Are you ready to do that every day of our lives from now on?” you ask him, suppressing a yawn. 

“As long as you’re there to help me,” he offers. 

“I will,” you state confidently. “Unless I die in some kind of freak accident, you’re stuck with me until we’re all old and wrinkly.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

You curl up next to Karkat, holding him close to you, and both of you fall asleep only to be woken up half an hour later by cries from the baby monitor. You get up, groggy and half asleep, and prepare yourself for the intricacies of fatherhood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might make this a full au one day because it was such a blast to write!! 
> 
> thanks for reading! i appreciate all of you so much <3


	7. Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr request from anonymous: maybe,, davekat with the soulmate au where what you write on your skin appears on your soulmates skin?

You’re thirteen years old when a poorly drawn dick appears on the back of your hand. You stare at it for a long time, unsure of where it came from and hoping against all hope that it’s not the result of your soulmate’s shenanigans. You try to wash it off in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before Sollux approaches you, laughing. 

“Dude, it’s your soulmate,” he lisps at you. “Guess they’re really into dicks. Good news for you.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you tell him. Sollux gives you the finger, his hand covered in doodles of skulls and funny hats, and you leave the bathroom to the sound of him laughing. 

Back at your desk, you rifle around in your backpack for a pen. You stare at your hand again, trying to figure out what to write, and end up scribbling on your wrist,  _ What the fuck?  _

All that comes is another dick, somehow even more scribbly and oddly shaped than the first one. You frown, now with two dicks on your hand, and wonder how the hell this person is supposed to be your soulmate.

* * *

 

You’re sixteen years old when a question appears on your forearm one afternoon. 

_ Are you a dude or a chick?  _

You squint at the message; you haven’t heard from your soulmate in three years, save for the occasional phallic object scrawled on your wrist, and you’re surprised to see something from them. The wording of the question irritates you a little bit, but you find a pen and circle  _ dude _ . 

There’s nothing for a while, and then a second circle appears around the same word. Your soulmate is a boy. 

This is the first time you’ve ever gotten anything out of him other than dicks and random doodles. You ask him for his name. 

_ Dave,  _ he writes. 

_ Karkat, _ you respond. 

And then there’s nothing.

* * *

 

It’s another year before you get anything from Dave, this time in the form of a PesterChum handle. You jump online to message him, and to your immense surprise he responds to you almost immediately. 

He actually talks to you online, though the way he speaks is irritating and hard to follow. He’s your age, and lives just a few hundred miles away in Texas. Talking over PesterChum soon becomes a daily occurance, and during your conversations, doodles start to appear on your hands, your forearms, above your knee. Some of them are dicks, as you expect, but others are genuinely good drawings of flowers, animals, and landscapes. 

At school you start to add to them, when they appear. You put an extra petal or leaf on the flowers, scribble unnecessary tails on the animals, draw a second sun on the landscapes. Dave follows your lead and soon the doodles become intricate drawings spanning your entire arm, ink curling around your skin like a tattoo.

* * *

 

Dave tells you things on your skin that he’s too afraid to tell you online. Things about his brother, his life, himself. You learn a lot about him through what he writes, especially when he scribbles little reminders on the back of his hand. 

_ Finish bio project.  _

_ Take photos to get developed.  _

_ Tell Karkat about the thing that happened today.  _

Some days Dave is too tired or too sad to talk online, and on those days you leave him small messages of encouragement to read. He doesn’t respond to them much, just circles them or adds stars to emphasize them. It becomes common for him to add hearts after a while, and they make you smile. 

One day you wake up to find your own name written on your wrist, surrounded in little oblong hearts. Your own heart thuds as you write out Dave’s name in response, but surround it with dicks instead. Your phone pings with a message from him, affectionately calling you an asshole.

* * *

 

You’re sitting in bed reading one afternoon when a number fades into existence on the inside of your wrist.  _ 536\.  _

You tilt your head at it and add a question mark. Dave tells you it’s the exact amount of money he needs for a plane ticket to Houston. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he insists. 

Every few weeks the number gets crossed out and replaced with a smaller one as Dave saves his money. You watch with bated breath each time a new line appears through the number, waiting for it to tick down to zero. It takes a couple months, but soon the numbers are erased entirely and replaced with a simple promise. 

_ See you soon. _

* * *

 

You’re twenty years old when you meet your soulmate. 

The first thing Dave does is scoop you into his arms and kiss you silly in the airport, holding you tight against him. When you pull away, he says simply, “Hey,” and you revel in the sound of his voice. 

“Hey,” you say back, voice low. 

“I wanna try something,” he says, and rifles around in his bag for something to write with. He comes back with a pen, and scribbles something on his wrist that you can’t see. 

You stare at your own skin, waiting for the message to appear. It’s pretty immediate. 

_ I love you _ . 

You smile, stare up at Dave’s beaming face. He grins back at you, hands you the pen, and you write out the same declaration with shaking hands. Dave kisses the words on your wrist, smiling bright, and you fall even more in love with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little ditty for you all, i love soulmate aus so much 
> 
> im still taking requests and now commissions over on my tumblr @acedavestrider, hit me up if you want!
> 
> thanks for reading! i appreciate you all so much <3


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